Omoide ga Ippai
by Nibun Yuri
Summary: Akane loses her memory as Ranma loses Jusenkyou.
1. Reflections in a Dark Glass

**O M O I D E G A I P P A I**   
Part One: Reflections in a Dark Glass 
by **Nibun Yuri**   
[pinku_chan@hotmail.com][1]
~~~~~*~~~~~ 

    Ranma hadn't realized just how fast Ryouga'd gotten. Ryouga might never be as fast as him, but his opponent's speed was enough to surprise; then he cursed himself for not expecting the Bakusai-Tenketsu. Ranma jumped backwards, the fringes of the cloud of rock shrapnel grazing his arms and shredding his clothes, and landed inches away from the pit's gaping mouth. Through the explosion, he could barely hear Akane, screaming at his adversary. 

    "Ryouga, please! Stop it! It's not Ranma's fault!" 

    Ryouga either didn't hear, or he flat-out ignored her. He charged, fist pulled back. Should be easy to avoid that punch, Ranma thought, and leapt into the air. Ryouga ran beneath him--and pivoted on his heel, right at the edge of an empty Jusenkyou spring. For an instant, Ryouga had his back; Ranma twisted in midair. 

    There was a maniacal grin on his face that sent shivers down Ranma's spine. "Die, Ranma." Ryouga's fist went up, directed toward the underside of his nose: he wanted to kill him. 

    "No!" 

    There was a flash of pale blue: a dress. Ryouga quickly pulled his punch, but still, he struck the wearer of the dress--Akane. 

    Stunned, Ranma caught the limp body in his arms, staring blankly at the inert face. He noted the red area on her forehead where Ryouga's fist had connected. A... Akane? His gaze whipped up, and his eyes were trained on the Hibiki boy even while his body gently lay Akane down over the dry soil... except for when his lips briefly brushed over hers. 

    Again, he looked up. The madness in Ryouga's eyes was gone; in its place was horror. What had he done to Akane? The two blue eyes broke the contact and caressed the pale face again. Akane's pretty--beautiful--face, and then, to her breast, rising and falling... Akane was alive. But no one hit her like that. 

    Ranma snarled. 

~~~~~*~~~~~     Ranma stared at his hands as he sat in the waiting room in the hospital. His hands were big, he noted, stretching his fingers. They should've been able to protect Akane. Like his heart, they didn't want Akane to be hurt. 

    They had nearly killed Ryouga. 

    He looked up through the window set in the wall across from where he sat. Somewhere behind the thick glass and the half-open venetian blinds, Akane lay in a bed, a breathing mask or something strapped across her face. According to the doctor, that--slowed breathing--was normal for a concussion, which, when he'd asked for details, was usually caused by a fall or a blow to the head of some sort. After taking in the tears in his clothing, the doctor'd cocked her head and gone so far as to ask, in heavily accented Japanese, if there were any problems--she couldn't have meant between the two of them! 

    He... cared for Akane too much. 

    Around him, there was white, white, white, white, red, white, white, white. The smell of freshly cleaned and dried bedding--which also smelled like emptiness. There were murmurs in Chinese. Occasionally, words and bits of phrases registered in his mind, picked up from his prior training journey. Most of them were pessimistic. A little girl looked at him curiously before turning to answer a woman whom Ranma assumed was her mother. 

    His head drooped, although his torso was supported by his arms on his knees. He didn't like this place at all; it meant something was wrong with someone, somewhere, that that someone was so weak as to need care. Akane wasn't weak, though. Ryouga was to blame. No girl could withstand the guy's punch, pulled or not! 

    Ranma had killed before--he'd killed Saffron... but not in that way. Saffron had been reborn a baby, at least. Ranma had worried, then, but hadn't done anything more about the problem, because Akane had awoken. It was the damn girl's fault he'd been so angry at Saffron. She'd probably only pretended to be dead, so he'd do or say something stupid, and she could hold it against or to him... But he'd been glad. 

    This time, his hands had tightened and tightened around Ryouga's neck. He remembered spitting in the guy's face. "You bastard! You say you love her, and still, you fucking knocked her unconscious!" 

    Ryouga'd wheezed; it was all he could do. 

    It was when he stopped struggling that Ranma came to his senses, and he fled, Akane's body cradled in his arms. 

    He had no idea what kind of condition Ryouga was in, right then. 

    By then, most of Ranma's body had gone numb. He needed to move. Ranma got to his feet, at last, and looked uncertainly around him. Too many people, even in this section of the hospital. A few eyed the rips in his shirt as they strode past, but he knew that he'd just as quickly be gone from their memories as they had from his vision. Briefly, he wondered if they too had dear ones here. 

    He found that his body had unconsciously moved toward the window, which his breath fogged. "Akane," he whispered, as if believing that, once she heard him, she would wake... but no, still, she slept, a splash of black-and-blue spread over the pillow where her head rested. His hands, wanting to smooth out that hair, were placed against the window. 

    They were big hands. 

~~~~~*~~~~~     A floodlight shined in the girl's pale face-- and yet, she could not see. Air that seemed permeated by ink surrounded her, except for that stark, blinding whiteness. Her feet knew no ground; a chill seemed to seep over and under them, tendrils of cloud embracing her naked body. 

    Above her, infinity. 

    Below, oblivion. 

    Whispering voices circled her, taunting her. They darted to her ear in one second, then away again, in the next. Who is this? they demanded. Who is this? Who are you? You are whom? Who is this? 

    "I-- I am Tendou Akane," she answered loudly, "third daughter of the Tendou doujou. I am seventeen-years-old... a junior at Furinkan High School in the Nerima Ward of Tokyou, Japan." 

    They laughed at her. You are nothing, nothing, nothing, little one. You are a grain of sand in the desert you call the world. You are insignificant. 

    You are nothing. 

~~~~~*~~~~~     The dream slipped away as soon as consciousness loomed near; she did not grasp for it and instead let it flee. She opened her eyes... and cold confusion settled, weighing down and making heavy her heart. 

    Where was she? 

    Hostile white walls surrounded her, though glass hemmed her in on two sides. The window on her right was strangled by several pairs of blinds; she almost thought she saw a shadow flicker there... The air was cool, though not fresh, though not from the outside, where the moon peeked out from behind thick grey clouds and the wind murmured. A small television had been mounted in the far corner near the ceiling. A soft buzz came, slipping between the white-painted wood and the floor to carry voices to her ears. 

    Was she in a hospital? More importantly, why was she in there? An unvoiced question danced beyond her mind's reach; giving up, she decided that it would come, sooner or later, with answer in tow. 

    She slid from the bed, bare foot tingling at the frigidity of the tiled floor. Awkwardly, she took several steps toward the shallow counter where the sink and the mirror were. In the process, she bumped against the dinner tray, and it rolled aside, as if it wanted nothing to do with her. On the other hand, what she guessed to be her hospital gown seemed quite taken with her: static caused the sickly green fabric to cling to her body. 

    At last, she managed to reach the counter, her hands stretching out for a hold to steady her quaking body. Her head was throbbing, and she rubbed at the back of her neck, grimacing, before the pounding of the drums faded quietly away. 

    Then, she looked up into the mirror hung above the sink, and her heart writhed in her chest. Shaking, a hand reached up and fingered the shorn tips of black, black hair. Had it always been so short? 

    From the glassy reflection, large brown eyes stared at her blankly, flickering from mussed hair to pink lips. The body beneath the face was unfamiliar, as well, though it seemed that she had kept it in good shape, some time ago: it was lithe and a bit muscular... Very nice, yes... 

    Once again, she searched the face of the girl in the mirror, in hopes of finding any one aspect that she could cling to. There was none. Perhaps, perhaps if she washed her face--the person in the mirror would vanish, and her true self would appear. Whoever she was, added the quiet hum of the ventilation system. 

    Frenzied, she gripped the handles of the faucet and twisted. Steaming water gushed forth from the tap, spattering her gown with tiny droplets. Her hands didn't seem to notice that the water was scalding as they threw water up into her face and scrubbed it raw with a coarse paper towel. Tears of desperation were wiped away as soon as they trickled forth; her own ears did not catch her whimpers of pain. 

    There was a shout, and hands, not her own, killed the water. ...They slapped her across the face. Once again, the water was revived as a patient trickle, though she could plainly see, even through a veil of tears, that, this time, it was not steaming. 

    The hands dipped beneath the faucet with a small rag and wrung it loosely before moving toward her. They had slapped her before, and so she shied away, crying out. Her cheek burned--whether from the slap or the temperature of the water was unknown. 

    A red-clothed arm encircled her, firmly pulling her body close. She became uncomfortably aware that the gown was awfully short: she could feel the air conditioning caress her bottom. What was this person going to do to her? 

    "G-Get away from me!" She gave a shove, but it was like trying to push the nearby wall, albeit the man's chest was not quite as hard. He was strong--he could do anything he liked, it appeared! Her fists were not going to be enough to hold him off. Already, the burns were beginning to sting. 

    "Dammit, Akane," her assailant whispered fiercely. Curiously enough, his hands were every bit as gentle as his voice was furious, as they trailed the damp cloth across her bright red skin. Just as curious, she lifted her face and welcomed the coolness, the fear having dissipated. Here was someone who recognized her! Maybe he could help her--he had already told her her name. "How could you be so stupid?" 

    She did not hear this. "Akane," she mouthed as he carefully took her hands and placed them beneath a trickle of cool water. Even her name was not familiar, but then again... She met gazes with the man, not noticing the faint clip-clop of heels on the tile outside her room. A beautiful blue, she noted of his eyes, absently, before she spoke. 

    "Who--Who are you?" 

~~~~~*~~~~~ 

finis. 
[http://members.nbci.com/nibunyuri][2]

   [1]: mailto:pinku_chan@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://members.nbci.com/nibunyuri



	2. Smile

**O M O I D E G A I P P A I**   
Part Two: Smile 
by **Nibun Yuri**   
[pinku_chan@hotmail.com][1]
~~~~~*~~~~~

    Ranma agonized, seconds after his hand had connected with her cheek. He drew it to his chest like a broken wing, and stared at Akane's face, flushed pink from the scalding water--and pinker still where he had struck her. Cringing slightly at his action, he turned away. He did not lift his eyes to the mirror. 

    He could feel the heat still clinging to the metal of the hospital sink's dull steel handle. "What'd I just do?" he whispered to himself. The words nearly lost themselves in the water, as did murmuring from outside the room. Even the slight trickle from the faucet seemed to taunt him... and he nearly ripped the offending thing from the counter. 

    And it wasn't as if he couldn't. Martial artists were known for being destructive, and Saotome Ranma was a martial artist. A particularly good one, at that. Oh, he could very probably have dented it beyond recognition if he'd chosen to--and the thing was steel--but at the moment, his mind was too preoccupied to send instructions to his fists. 

    Almost mechanically, Ranma soaked a cloth from the counter beneath the faucet. (He had to work to shut out an occasional whimper, even with the water running.) 

    His hands ached as he wrung out the cloth, not from any physical pain, but because he was becoming a Ryouga, just like the one he'd left... laying motionless in a dry Jusenkyou. 

    Vaguely, Ranma wondered if there wasn't a less rough rag about; it was a bit scratchy. 

    He hadn't hit Akane because he'd wanted to--God, no! It was stress, he told himself, stress that came from 'Dry Jusenkyou Equals No Cure' and, quite possibly, 'I am Ryouga's Murderer.' 

    But a pang in his heart cast a shadow of doubt over it all when he looked into Akane's eyes. He saw fear there and in her trembling lips. Because he'd hit her. 

    Ranma drew her in to him and held her, even as she tried to push him away, despising him. "Get away from me!" Her voice was full of it--of fear, but what hit him the hardest, perhaps, was the fact that he wanted it to stop, wanted to take back what he'd done, wanted somehow to forget his action--and to do that, he thought he would just shut it all up, all the reminders... Maybe he would do it with a fist. 

    "Dammit, Akane!" he cursed in a voice full of frustration. Bathing her skin with a veil of cool water, his hand began to shake, though almost imperceptibly. (Still, Ranma noticed.) His fiancee seemed to lift her face at his oath, though, baring her sweet, ivory neck to him... and he suddenly could feel her warm body close to his... 

    So very close... 

    Ranma swallowed, mouth dry, and fixed his attention on the rag. Hopefully, it would not give him a nosebleed. However, his brain was overworking itself on a question that would probably have unraveled the universe if he someday chanced upon the answer. Why hadn't Akane, at the very least, knocked him into the wall? Where was the dreaded Mallet? "How could you be so stupid?" he asked her. 

    "Mm?" 

    Ranma took this as a good sign. If she wasn't paying attention, he wouldn't end up in pain or with a concussion. 

    He placed her hands under the faucet and was reminded of the tiny wrists he held, her slender body as his arms fell on either side of her, a scent clinging to her skin and wafting from her hair to his nose... It was a scent he liked, familiar, one the bastard'd probably fell asleep with--more nights than him, her own fiance! 

    The jealousy was going to burst out of his head, someday. But then Akane turned, eyes searching... Ranma thought he might have kissed her, had the situation been different--would've kissed her long ago, if not for so many interruptions or the damned tape slipped over his lips. 

    "Who are you?" 

    And though the Nerima Ward of Tokyo had accustomed him to many strange sights and sounds, Ranma was not yet accustomed to this--but yes, it'd happened before. Even so, he nearly choked on his tongue. 

    "Y--You're joking, right?" He glared at Akane. Was this payback for slapping her? He preferred being kicked through the ceiling; physical reactions were usually pretty easy to understand ('I hate you, Ranma, you jerk!'), but mind games were waaaay beyond him. "Well, if it is, it ain't funny." 

    She pulled away from him. "I'm not joking! Who are you?!" 

    And Ranma could see it in her eyes--wild, frenzied--in the way she held herself around him--stiff, ready to bolt... as if she expected him to jump at her with bloodthirsty fangs at any second... He saw that, no, Tendou Akane didn't know who the hell her fiance was. 

    Nine. One. One. 

    From that point on, his body was on Automatic. He only barely recognized the doctor, Miss 'Is there a problem?' as he tore past her through the doorway, in search of any one of a certain Chinese tribe called Amazon. 

~~~~~*~~~~~     Pain. Perhaps the worst thing to wake up to. A good thing his back was numb. Ryouga coughed softly and turned slightly onto his side. He could feel rock beneath him, but since when had rock become so cold? Jusenkyou was warmer than this... he'd thought. 

    When at last he deigned to open his eyes, the situation lightened for him a bit--but only a bit. At first, he thought Ranma'd gone and blinded him after he'd lost consciousness, but his vision quickly adjusted to the darkness, thanks to the moonlight shining through the cavern's mouth. 

    Still, it didn't answer the question he'd been asking everyday of his life: 'Where the hell am I now?!' This time, however, there was no recollection of ever walking beneath the stalactites that lined the entrance, and that, as he craned his neck back to take them in, perhaps, was what puzzled him most. 

    It hurt to breathe, but Hibiki Ryouga could still make out the smell of water. When he shut out the wind's moans from outside, he could hear a murmur of a small river, off somewhere, deeper within the cave. Then there was the strange absence of a moss, and if there was, he didn't catch its smell. 

    Rather unsteadily, Ryouga slid to his feet, staggered for a few steps before he caught his balance. So, Ranma hadn't broken anything. It'd seemed like Saotome would've done that, though... He hated to think what the guy would've done had he accidentally killed Akane. He didn't want to think of what he'd do to himself if he accidentally killed Akane! 

    He took a look at the cold block of stone he'd been lying on, but... when he did, it was to find that the block of stone was a block of ice--one that was perfectly chiseled. Surely, the warmth of his body had been enough to melt some of the ice, but upon further inspection, the surface was unmarred! It was glossy enough to reflect the moon to his eyes. Three-quarters full... 

    He shrugged to himself and winced as a dull ache began to throb somewhere. He knew why the block of ice was the way it was: Jusenkyou was weird and getting weirder. But, hey, it was home to Manhood. 

    Somewhere within his mind, he kicked an important fact beneath the carpet. If it hadn't, he would've found another reason to hate Ranma--as if there weren't enough. 

    It occurred to him, after several minutes of standing there, staring at the base of the ice block, that perhaps setting off for Jusenkyou would be best, considering how long it took for him to get to the bathroom in his own house. Whenever he could find his house. 

    Carefully, he stared at his feet and pivoted around toward the light--when left untended, his feet had the awkward habit of walking off in the direction his head didn't want to go. Now, getting from where he stood to the exit was probably the hardest thing for him to do. 

    He stepped slowly toward the opening. He could already feel the groaning wind on him--it only chilled him even more--but it meant he was nearing. With every inch, he had to pause to make sure the mouth of the cave was getting closer and not further. It seemed to work in the beginning, but somehow, he managed to veer off course, back toward the ice block. This frustrated him, but it did not easily surprise one accustomed to finding himself lost in a broom closet. 

    "I know of the fight with the blue-eyed boy, young sir. You actually should be dead." 

    The voice floating from the mouth of the cavern, however, did. 

~~~~~*~~~~~     For a few minutes, Ranma thought he'd been booted from the hospital and banned because they thought he'd been a disruption--running around the building, ducking into all the rooms (once, he thought he saw the Jusenkyou Guide)--but the reason, ha ha, was that he was allegedly an abuser of women, of Akane! It was just too funny, that! 

    However, Ranma wasn't laughing. In fact, he nearly glared death at the small form that scooted herself up beside an older woman, before he realized it was a little girl. Then, he was left to glare at the dewy grass. The girl evidently thought he was funny, though, and began to giggle. 

    "Why I funny?" he said sullenly in Mandarin. She looked somewhat familiar... The girl from the waiting room, maybe? Braided glossy-black hair, as before. 

    She smiled and answered. From what Ranma could make out, she was asking why he was grumpy. To that, he shrugged--his vocabulary wasn't enough to explain his situation, even if he'd wanted to--and returned to his thoughts. 

    Or tried. There was a couple standing only a few meters away, arguing. Ranma turned a cold stare on them, willing them to feel his eyes on their backs, to move away. This was a hospital (or the tiny park before the parking lot, anyway)! Who were they to think they could yell like that? 

    He stalked off to a different bench, heedless of the straggly middle-aged man who scooted to the very end before Ranma sat down. Now, the couple's voices were just a murmur, blending in with all the background noise of cars, kids, and adults' discussions. A light smell of sap from the tree behind him pervaded the area, though this was easily ignored. 

    Who the hell did that doctor think she was?! Man, if there were problems between him and Akane, he would've been long gone! He sure as heck didn't want to burden Akane with all the jackasses trailing after him, but that was the way things were in his life. 

    And what about Akane? She didn't know who the heck he was, so what did she know about his 'hitting' her? There was only that one slap... and this time, there were no tittering Chinese broads leaping out at him from under the cool white beds, so he thought he could rule out the Amazons' shampoo formula 911... Then again, who was to say a certain lavender-haired girl hadn't hidden herself outside the hospital? 

    The man beside him coughed noisily, a fist to his mouth, and scrunched down further inside his thin jacket. Ranma put as much space between them as possible--he wasn't going to catch this guy's cold. 

    But it had to've been Ryouga! Ranma'd seen cartoons before, where people got knocked in the head--and they lost their memory, just like Akane. (It was just a tiny slap... Hot water... just to get her wits back!) Ryouga, on the other hand, had pretty much knocked her brains out. With her memory attached. 

    Ranma sobered. There wasn't much to do about Ryouga, though... He kind of hoped the guy was all right, and then there was that other side of him that worried, 'What if he's dead?' Cops'd be all over 'im if Ryouga was--and if he was, Ranma couldn't beat the stuffing outta him. 

    He'd already done that, anyway. 

    Still, there was a more pressing matter at hand. The white-clad doctor and nurses had 'politely asked' for him to leave, and then there was also the implied sentiment of 'Don't come back.' That was easy enough to get past, though. For a second, Ranma was glad Jusenkyou'd ended up dry, even after all those onions. Sure, the old ghoul's magic mirror was handy, but it didn't go easy on the eyeballs. 

    Passers-by took one look at the figure with the dark aura on the little green bench, and hurried past. Even the man sharing the bench left, though perhaps only to run and meet his daughter. It wasn't so much the coolness emanating from him they could feel brush against their jackets, it was the sudden smile. 

    It simply didn't fit. 

    The young man stood up, and the people gave him an even wider berth, herding their children to their sides. 

    Saotome Ranma was looking for a rainstorm. 

~~~~~*~~~~~ 

finis. 
[http://members.nbci.com/nibunyuri][2]

   [1]: mailto:pinku_chan@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://members.nbci.com/nibunyuri



	3. Windows to the Soul

**O M O I D E G A I P P A I**   
Part Three: Windows to the Soul 
by **Nibun Yuri**   
[pinku_chan@hotmail.com][1]
~~~~~*~~~~~ 

    She stood near the hospital room window, gingerly clasping her newly-dressed hands behind her back. She was mindful not to lean too close, for she wanted to be able to see, and fogging the cold glass with her breath would not make things any clearer for her. She waited silently, willing for the nurse to quiet her chatter or, more preferably, to leave. As she watched the reflection in the window yank the cover from the plump pillow, though, it dawned on her that the woman wouldn't be leaving very soon, and nor did it seem likely that she would shut her thin mouth. 

    She found the sky had turned a pale, pale blue without her noticing. (Such beautiful blue eyes...) Through the glass and over the stream of Chinese flowing from the nurse's lips, Akane thought she could hear the chirping of birds, though she could not immediately make out the fluttering of wings when she peered into the mess of leaves adorning the branches of a nearby tree. 

    People milled about the grounds, a mixed assortment of colors and sizes. There, directly beneath her, for instance, waddled a rather round-bellied man, and he was a large brown circle, compared to the willowy, grey girl-dot who strode after a minute later. Farther out, the yellow-green grass of the garden succumbed to dark asphalt which was littered with small cars, their windows winking in the morning sun. 

    Red caught her eye--and there he was, sitting at a bench meters from the hospital, hunched over his knees and staring down at the pavement. A small smile played at the edge of her lips as she looked down at him. Tiny brown specks flitted several decameters from the man's feet. Sparrows? 

    Jet black hair braided into a pigtail, Chinese shirt, kung-fu shoes... Was he Chinese? But if he was, he was a Chinese man who spoke Japanese fluently--and without any trace of an accent! Still, his language was crude, almost certainly marking him as a man of the street, but his hands... his hands could lead her to believe otherwise. A lean, small body, almost still a boy. She wondered of his name... 

    "Put him out of your mind, Miss Tendou. He is no good for you," the lady doctor had advised when Akane had asked, and she had smiled a small, weak smile to herself: How was she to do that if she never recalled having him in her head in the first place? She didn't know how to answer "Does he beat you, Miss Tendou?" but she did mention softly that he had slapped her prior to running out... He didn't strike her as the type of person that would beat women, but how was she to know, she who hadn't remembered her own name? 

    Ah, but the man stood, leaping to his feet and inadvertently causing the birds to shoot off into the air. She could almost swear that he had nearly smiled at her, his face brilliant and shining in the light. It was then that, as the warmth crept into her cheeks, Akane decided that he was most certainly not one to fear abuse from, and that if he came for her as she privately hoped he would, she would go with him. 

    She watched as the pretty young man ran from the hospital grounds, weaving between his elders like a child. What was I thinking? Running off with a stranger? (The stranger with kind hands and beautiful eyes...) But... he might not be a stranger! He could be my boyfriend, and I wouldn't know, now, would I! 

    ...Then why did he leave me? 

    If this was pain, this ache emanating from somewhere within her chest, then she, Tendou Akane, had never before known pain. 

~~~~~*~~~~~     Corelli stood just inside the mouth of the cave and inhaled of the moonlight-dusted air, allowed it to fill her with its radiance. It raced through her veins (ah, the warmth it left behind, streaking through her blood!), and then she spoke: "I know of the fight with the blue-eyed boy, young sir. You actually should be dead." 

    She could not say her soft voice floundered in the still atmosphere, in this time before the moon had set and before the sun had risen. Even so, one might have lost it to the contented gurgle of the river farther within the darkness. 

    The boy--almost a man--turned from his confusion concerning his whereabouts and stared at her, like a deer. Corelli could nearly make out her petite form, faintly glowing a docile silver, in his frozen, dark eyes. The tiny Corelli-of-the-Eyes gently tilted her head and smiled at Boy-Fawn. 

    "Well? Will you not speak, young sir?" Corelli asked after a minute of only the river water's shy whispers. The smile danced, amused, at the corner of her pale pink lips. Yes, she could understand it, that there was often nothing to say when someone declared that you ought to be dead. 

    (There was nothing you could say. Her own tongue had silenced when an old man called Illerok told her she would never again die; the Spider's blood that burned alongside hers saw to it that wounds and injuries were healed within seconds. Never again would her soul break free of her body, would it tear at once in all directions. It was a fearful thing to lose your self.) 

    As if released from a spell, the boy-man brought his fist down on the waist-high block of ice and demanded of her, "Who the hell're you?!" He had made a fine spiderweb of cracked ice in her bed. Such anger this boy-man exerted. It flew at her in furious waves and rivulets, blowing her hair back over her bare shoulders. 

    Without blinking at the emotion-based wind, Corelli called to the moondust, and so it was that the pale stuff in her veins rushed upstream toward her heart. When her skin had been restored to its pale ivory, only her breast glowing so fiercely that at least a third of the cavern was illuminated with fluttering light, she began to sing. Her voice, while not exceptionally beautiful, was pleasant enough to carry the notes and vowel sounds. 

    The melody drew around the boy-man like a curtain and was joined by a second--also from Corelli's mouth. The two-parted song seeped through his skin, cooling his blood and soothing him. He sat down on his haunches, wordless, and moved only when Corelli leapt up from the cavern's entrance to light upon her bed of ice, to sit himself beside her. 

    She kicked her small feet idly for a bit, leaning forward so as to be able to watch the death of the moon, framed in the cave entrance. Then, throwing a small smile over her shoulder, she asked the boy-man's name; and when he responded, one of her small spells translated his language to hers. His name meant Good Fang. She had to laugh before she bade him, open his mouth, she wanted to look at these fangs. 

    Good Fang looked vaguely uncomfortable, but still, his jaw dropped for her, and in went a slender finger. There was one pointy tip, and there on the other side was another! Corelli laughed again and murmured her name, "Moon Child," against his cheek. Heat rose where she had kissed him. "I have a proposal for you, Sir Good Fang. Help me to regain my honor, and I shall help you regain yours." 

    He drew back from her arms, the spell having dissipated, and looked into the grey eyes of the moon daughter. "What do you mean, 'regain my honor'? I--I didn't do anything!" 

    "You lost," she said simply and deliberately, "and it is to my understanding that a male from any world seeks to retaliate at he who humiliates him." Corelli cocked her head at him curiously, and noticed his eyes follow the dark hair that fell over her shoulder and curled about her breast. "Am I not correct? Did your opponent's victory not hurt your manlihood?" 

    At the word 'hurt,' his gaze slid downwards toward the floor, and a hand clapped itself to his sore neck. "I hurt Crimson" was almost inaudible, but the shame riding those words hit her like a monsoon. There was a sharp twinge in her chest. 'Crimson'... the dark-haired young woman, fallen to the ground, a doll, a puppet. Good Fang and his opponent were rivals for her? 

    "Do you love her?" she whispered. There was hope either way, she told herself: if Good Fang loved his Crimson, he would give himself up to Corelli's training, to fight the blue-eyed boy for his lady's hand--and even if he didn't, he would fight, most likely. Still, the moon child's pride wished his answer negative... 

    "N-No." The hand about his neck flew to the back of his head as he tittered. 

    Even if he was lying, it was what Corelli wanted to hear, and pleased, she repeated, "Good Fang, will you help me?" 

    He was startled out of his embarrassment. "How do you want me to do that?" he asked warily, to which she only laughed. His hand was clutched, and a short, joyful song burst from her lips before the ice block beneath them suddenly became liquid. It arced over the two to crush them in an imploding bubble of water. 

    The morning sun peeked into the cave and found it empty. 

~~~~~*~~~~~     Akane spent about half the day switching on and off the small, black television mounted in one of the top corners. It wasn't as if she understood a single word of the language everyone was speaking, though, so it was a wonder the advertisements even managed to draw her attention at all. Then finally, even the sun seemed to conspire against her and washed its bright golden gleam across the curved screen, making it almost impossible for her to reap any half-lived entertainment from the unfriendly room. 

    She was completely bored, to the point where staring into the sun, low in the west, for the next few hours seemed like a party compared to what she was currently doing, which was--incidentally--nothing, nothing, nothing. She had tried flipping through magazines, but the Chinese sentences made the people appear illiterate to the Japanese girl: the sentences were backwards and made absolutely zero sense to her. Besides, her bandaged hands made it hard for her to do even that. 

    And where was that boy?! Had he, or hadn't he, smiled at her before he left? Maybe Doctor Xi was right, and he was no good for her, and had smiled at her only to give her false hope, to leave her to die out of a merciless tedium, waiting here at the window... like she was doing now, bathing in the shimmering red-orange light. 

    She met gazes with her reflection, pity blatant in its deep brown eyes. It grimaced at her. Hesitantly, it fingered its black hair with white cloth hands, and it seemed that when it realized that the hair, the pink tips of peeking fingers belonged to someone else, it vanished from sight. 

    Akane looked away. The fact that she hardly recognized herself was frightening. 

    From the corner of her eye, she caught the door creak open, and so the perfunctory knocks were unnecessary. 

    Into the shadows of the dimming room slipped Doctor Xi and, following behind, a small figure, before the lights flickered into life above them. When the electric humming steadied, Akane was quite surprised to find familiar blue eyes set in a cute, somber face that was framed by wild hair as red as blood. 

~~~~~*~~~~~     The receptionist looked up from her computer and wondered why this particular visitor looked like a friggin' drowned rat. Ranma could tell right off that was what she was thinking from the expression on her pretty face: It was halfway between a bewildered smile and a smirk. Pasting a bright look on, Ranma inquired in Japanese, "Well, you'd look like a hurricane'd run you over, too, if the whole damn sky went and pissed on your head for several hours, wouldn't you, lady?" 

    Confusion marred the woman's pristine eyebrows, and hesitantly, she said, "Tuei pu chi, wo pu hui jiang rih ben yuu." From what Ranma could make of it, it was something like 'Sorry, don't speak Japanese...' She proceeded to look embarrassed, hands clenched to her chin, and blue eyes large with innocence. (She almost wanted to gag.) 

    "Oh, I sorry, miss!" she gasped, leaning into the marbled green counter. The receptionist seemed surprised that Ranma knew Chinese. "I not know! Please, miss, tell me where my cousin Tendou Akane?" She became acutely aware that more than several people had glanced over from their seats in her direction at the sound of the Japanese name. It was a bit hard to raise a shy blush. Did she even succeed? 

    A tongue clucked behind her. "Goodness, young lady. How rudely you speak your language, and how sweetly, ours." 

    Ranma's heart froze as the doctor's hand lit on her shoulder. Was the transformation enough to fool the woman? And the casual get-up? (She squirmed uncomfortably at the thought. Had she grown? The shorts were smaller than she remembered, but at least the tank top still fit.) If it wasn't, what would she do? Was there anything left to do? Damn. If he didn't drown them all in tears, Tendou would kill her before he realized that he could just go and fetch his daughter... and he'd probably get the money for the plane ticket by selling the house and his son/daughter-in-law to the whorehouses. 

    She whirled. "Hey, you speak Japanese?" Ranma asked incredulously, as if hearing such words from a Chinese person was novel to her. "Where's Akane? Can you take me to her?" Then, as an afterthought, she murmured, "I hope she's all right," though she already knew Akane's condition. Physically, her fiancee was fine. Her forehead was sore, and her hands were a little burned, but she was okay. Mentally... Crap. If Ranma took her home in that condition... Damned if I do, and damned if I don't. 

    The doctor raised an eyebrow and briskly strode off down a hall on the left. Her voice, though quiet, cut through the still lobby air to the redhead's ears: "Come with me." Ranma hurried to comply, her pigtail bobbing merrily after. 

    Having passed quite a number of rooms without any words, she began to feel as if the doctor could sense her dislike for her. The silence between them was emphasized all the more by patients and their visitors, suffocating them in a cocoon of warm chatter--or so it seemed to Ranma, who was jolted from her awkwardness by the surprisingly soft, bittersweet smile on the lady's lips. Ranma wondered briefly as her sneakered feet continued to step, step, step... 

    What could someone like her possibly have to smile about? 

    Ranma glanced up again. 

    But... her smile doesn't look like the sort of smile you see everyday. It's not happy, for one thing. 

    Up a flight of stairs and on the right was Akane's room. (Only two stories up.) Ranma's heart began to flutter as they approached. What if Akane knew who she was? But then again, what if she didn't? So the amnesia thing could almost be a blessing in disguise. Maybe she and Akane could... start over? 

    The doctor knocked a few times on the door and then slipped inside to turn on the lights. Privately, Ranma wondered why exactly Akane'd been sitting in the dark in the first place. 

    Akane turned halfway to face them. Ranma could see her eyes widen at the sight of her, but did she recognize her? It didn't look like she did; a vague disappointment spread out from somewhere in Ranma's body. Akane looked up at the doctor and nodded. "Hello, Doctor Xi." 

    Xi returned the acknowledgment before she spoke, gesturing coolly toward Ranma. "A visitor for you, Miss Tendou." Her gaze dropped to the bandages on Akane's hands, clasped daintily in the girl's lap. "You will be taken care of in the morning, Miss Tendou. I hope you have eaten well?" 

    "Yes, thank you." 

    "Then, I must see to other patients. Mai will be in, shortly." With that, the doctor turned so abruptly that her white coat flared out behind her. Ranma watched the door pull shut, but she stood motionless until at last the woman's footsteps faded away. Mai was probably just a nurse, but nevertheless, she was someone who would be coming in at a bad time. 

    Behind her, Akane slid off the bed and padded softly over. "Do I know you?" 

    Ranma threw a halfhearted smile over her shoulder. (What to do, what to do? 'Fiance'? Look at me--she'll think I'm nuts. Maybe if I go with the cousin Ranko bit? And lie straight off?) "I'm kind of a friend of yours, Akane." 

    Her fiancee's eyes narrowed. "'Kind of'?" 

    Every second brought this Mai-woman closer to the room. Ranma had to act, fast. "I can explain, but first, you gotta come home with me!" 

    Akane looked shocked and stepped back as if she'd been slapped. "What? Why should I? I don't even know who you are!" she sputtered in disbelief. 

    "I really didn't wanna do this." Ranma jabbed a hand at the base of Akane's ear, but not before the Tendou girl had reflexively drawn up her arm to block. Still, Ranma was the quicker of the two, and within moments, she was holding an unconscious girl in her arms... one who was a little bit taller, and therefore, a little bit heavier. 

    "I will explain, Akane. Later," she promised beneath her breath. 

    She edged toward the window and jerked it open with a hand, then more or less kicking out the screen. There was a cry from below, a clatter of a plastic frame. As Ranma jumped out into the air with Akane cradled against her breast, she thought she heard a shriek from inside the room--Mai? Or one of the people under her? Did it matter? 

    She landed with a pained grunt, her knees bent to absorb some of the impact. From that stance, she shot to her throbbing feet and ran, shooting past tear-blurred mothers, fathers, sisters, and brothers toward the very same gate she'd passed through earlier that day, as a man. 

    Security tried to block her path. She would've laughed as she darted around or leapt over their stocky bodies, had she the breath to do so. "You're a hundred years from ever catching Saotome Ranma!" she wanted to hoot at them, but instead, she bit down on her lip and focused on the rhythm of her feet, the swift, staccato sound of sneaker thudding on sun-streaked pavement. Akane's legs and arms dangled and swung to the intense beat. Ranma never heard the men and women yelling at her in Mandarin, "Stop! Where are you going with that girl?" 

    Her blood booming like thunder in her ears, her ragged breath like the sharp song of wind in the trees. Her footsteps chanting, "A-ka-ne, A-ka-ne. A-ka-ne..." It was her victory theme. A shining red bird carrying a pale girl, Ranma flew into the fiery remains of a dying sun. 

~~~~~*~~~~~ 

finis. 
[http://members.nbci.com/nibunyuri][2]

   [1]: mailto:pinku_chan@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://members.nbci.com/nibunyuri



	4. Into the Darkness

**O M O I D E G A I P P A I**   
Part Four: Into the Darkness 
by **Nibun Yuri**   
[pinku_chan@hotmail.com][1]
~~~~~*~~~~~ 

    Ryouga blinked and sat up from the warm stone floor. What he first noticed about his surroundings were magenta-rimmed clouds in a molten sky. Panes of glass stretched at his feet to a peak and then were met by grey marble. On the other side of the windows, the furniture was arranged in good taste; the wooden floor, varnished and gleaming... 

    Immaculate, it looked as if it was unlived in, as if perhaps all of its contents were there because the owner had seen them in other houses, but did not truly understand what the imitations were for. It was empty, unused. Who lived in a place like that? The moon girl? 

    He looked up. The moon girl was a black silhouette against the sun, sitting there at the edge of the roof. She didn't seem to notice as he quietly approached her back, not wanting to startle her. She appeared riveted by a skyscraper not too far in the distance. He had spent some time wandering about Singapore, where, because of the island's small size, the people had to build up instead of out; and so he was not as impressed with its height. Nevertheless... 

    He peeked over the edge, stepped back, and immediately dropped to his haunches. The alleys below were too far down to be as reckless as that girl. 

    A warm breeze carried the sounds of cars to his ears, and he cleared his throat awkwardly. Perhaps for the thousandth time in his life, he asked of his whereabouts, but the noun seemed alien on his tongue. "Where are we?" 

    Her gaze did not waver once from the dark building. "The First City," she said. He had been about to ask what country, what continent, was that in when he realized her voice had sounded choked and heavy. Was she crying? 

    Quickly, Ryouga glanced at her profile. Her face was dry, but her eyes seemed lost in some inner sadness... 

    She was a bittersweet dream in that warm, golden light. He reached unconsciously to touch her cheek and suddenly was afraid that this girl, who vaguely reminded him of his beautiful Tendou Akane, would vanish at the touch. He did not know why a stranger should mean that much to him, but still he restrained himself, folded his arms tightly across his chest and was quiet. 

    He waited as the sun slipped down until only its shadow of violets and pinks blanketed the city, and then he spoke, softly so as not to break the calm. "What do you want me to do?" His voice finally brought her at last from her musing, and the moon child only smiled. 

~~~~~*~~~~~     Ranma ran too long with the girl in her arms. It was at least twenty minutes after the hospital had disappeared beneath the skyline, when the stars had begun to appear one by one in the darkening sky, that it occurred to her that she could rest, she could hide amidst the stalks of thick bamboo beside the road. 

    She sat where the wooden stalks dwarfed her, gasping for breath. Cars passed shortly after, and the air, forced into motion by these metal beasts, teased the dewy bamboo leaves to tears. Sirens keened, hungry, and Ranma only pulled Akane's listless body closer to her. 

    The air became still, but for one girl's soft cursing. 

~~~~~*~~~~~     Rain murmured on Corelli's bamboo umbrella as she walked down the glistening streets. Well after midnight, the automobiles had long since disappeared into their subterranean burrows while the city above them slept, and so there was almost no one to gape at the palely glowing woman under the flickering light of the streetlamps. Those who did only shook their heads and swore off alcohol. 

    At last stopping before a large bronze plaque on a building wall, Corelli peered out from beneath the crimson-lacquered cover and let her eyes wander over an engraved name and title. The young woman went on to a locked door where she paused, and then, skin shimmering with a subdued light, she slipped through the pane of glass into the dimness. Silently, the umbrella was taken down and tucked beneath an arm. 

    Her bare feet whispering on the tiles, she passed a drowsy guard and only crooned several brief notes when he leapt to his feet with a startled cry. The man collapsed into his chair again, and some object clattered noisily to the floor beneath his desk. She heard buzzing, concerned voices from that corner till the steel-plated elevator doors slid shut on her. 

    It shuddered and began to rise, carrying her along in its small belly. It invited her to accompany its one-toned hum, and so she did, lilting quietly the same song she had sung into Good Fang's ear as he curled in her bed; until the moonlight she had collected in her blood that evening was all but exhausted, and sleep magic no longer laced her words. 

    Primly, she stepped over the slumped bodies that lay about a certain gold-trimmed door on the ninty-secondth floor. The entrance was locked, of course. She searched each of the guards' pockets for perhaps a keycard, but there was no such thing to be found, and so almost regretfully, she used the last of the moon's gifts to enter the bedroom of the rulers of Xier Che. 

    Corelli did not care to see the ivory fountain in the corner. Years ago, it seemed, she had mercilessly swatted its water into a young prince's face. She ignored the many assorted plants and statues among which she had played many games of hide and seek, but went instead directly out between the carved marble columns. 

    The dark clouds had moved on, though the thunder continued to echo hollowly from some distant land. The moon child looked out onto the roofs beneath her, painted in varying shades of silvers and greys, and sighed softly as magic gradually seeped into her veins again. When she had enough to last her the night, she went back inside to a grand canopied bed. There would be some woman in it, and lying beside her would also be a black-haired, pale-skinned angel. 

    The bed moaned when she sat at the side of the slumbering form of Xier Che's king. Corelli looked down upon the man's peaceful face and skimmed her fingertip lightly along the bridge of his nose. Giving in at last, she put her hand to the familiar curve of his cheek. 

    He woke and firmly caught her wrist. She was surprised at this, that he had woken at all... that as much as she hated him, he still excited those same feelings in her, and that she could adore and despise a person so fiercely at the same time. She carefully kept her face expressionless, however, as he brought his fingers to this cold mask, whispering almost fearfully, "Corelli? Is it you?" 

    She allowed herself a slight smile and a nod, and began to hum shakily beneath her breath. Ice slowly formed in the hand that was not burning with his touch, that his beautiful dark eyes did not sear. 

    "Why? Why are you here?" He released her arm as he sat up to glance at his fair wife. Her chest slowly rose and fell, rose and fell. "You made her sleep, did you?" he murmured impassively, more a statement than a question. He noticed at last the pike of ice laid so openly in Corelli's small hands. His gaze moved up and searched her empty face, not quite understanding and finding still no satisfactory answer. 

    There was not a sound but for the bubbling fountain of the ever-indifferent cherub, and... softly, gently... the wind's breath blowing upon the tower of the king. 

    Corelli smiled and said then: "I am here to kill you." 

~~~~~*~~~~~     He set the kettle aside on the thin grass, then folded his hands into his lap as he peered curiously at the girl lying on the other side of the bonfire. Minutes, or perhaps hours, later, Akane stirred and pushed herself into a sitting position to stare disorientedly down at her clothes, and then back up at him. There was no need for her to voice her question--it was already in her narrowing eyes: 

    You dressed me? 

    Ranma had stripped herself down to the tank top and boxers, neatly tossing the shorts onto a clump of bamboo, before she pulled on a pair of pants as dark as the night. Fumbling with buttons and zippers, she had then pinkly clothed a pale female body in a blood-red Chinese shirt and jean shorts. 

    He chuckled dryly. "Nah, the redhead did." This did not seem to convince her at all, and so, embarrassed, he looked down at his lap instead. "So, uh, you really don't remember me?" he murmured softly, trying to sound casual, as if he didn't care either way, before he realized that his voice had sounded too hopeful. 

    She glanced at him with an arched eyebrow and said, as she made her way around the dancing flames and gingerly sat down near him, "I remember you from this morning, but I suppose that doesn't count to you, does it?" 

    Ranma gazed down at her face, his eyes roaming from her large brown eyes to the tip of her cute nose, to pink lips he'd tasted once or twice and whose memories he could never cherish; every mesmerizing feature enhanced by the firelight. The bamboo whispered around them, and a stray breeze chose to toss a strand of ebony hair onto her cheek. Smiling absent-mindedly, he reached to tuck it behind her ear, but he was snapped out of his reverie as Akane impatiently repeated herself for the third time. 

    "Ranma," he said quickly in response. A dull ache throbbed in his chest as he explained his identity to her. "Saotome Ranma... your fiancé." Without thinking, he had stressed the title. His face grew warm as he blundered on. "You're Tendou Akane, but you, uh, already knew that. Me and my dad live with you and your family, and we practice Anything-Goes Martial Arts." 

    An uncomfortable silence grew. Akane kept her eyes on her knees, her feet pulled up beneath her, while feeling awkward, Ranma lay back on his hands and stared at the night sky, flecked carelessly with silver and white. The question lay thick in the air, and briefly, he wondered if he should explain to her how they had come to be engaged--that it was their parents' idea--but that thought vanished when Akane stretched out and nestled her head to his chest. 

    The silence became easy, and soon only their slumbering breaths drifted upon the wind. Embers glowed and faded gracefully into the darkness as the horizon slowly became a pale pink. 

~~~~~*~~~~~ 

finis. 
[http://members.nbci.com/nibunyuri][2]

   [1]: mailto:pinku_chan@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://members.nbci.com/nibunyuri



	5. Drifting

**O M O I D E G A I P P A I**   
Part Five: Drifting 
by **Nibun Yuri**   
[pinku_chan@hotmail.com][1]
~~~~~*~~~~~     The sun beat down upon a sparkling blue sea and attempted to suffocate the fish in the cold water's depths. Clouds floated lazily across an azure pool while a crisp, salty breeze whipped about below them, eventually easing its way under grey-tipped wings to fling seabirds ever higher in graceful spirals. It weaved swiftly between buildings near a harbor, and then dived at a pier upon which waited two girls. 

    The redhead sat with her back against one of the bollards, a bored expression on her small face. Her slender arms, folded against her bosom, only reinforced this appearance. 

    The other girl seemed anxious, however, her legs and back stiff with hands clasped before her. Chewing on her lower lip, she scanned the empty horizon several times before turning to her companion with somber eyes. The wind teased her hair, and when she ignored this, it sidled freshly beneath the silk of her Chinese blouse. 

    "Ranko?" 

    Ranma kept her eyes shut and only sighed tiredly. "Like I said, Akane, I don't know when Bushido-Butt'll get here. Just keep your eyes open, okay?" 

    There was a pointed pause from Akane's part, but the girl finally agreed. Slumping further in her spot, Ranma muttered to herself, "The guy wouldn't miss a date with me for his life." Then, as an afterthought: "Oh, he'd better get us a ship, or I'll ground his balls into the dust, wearing stiletto heels." 

    The minutes dragged slowly by in the smothering atmosphere, but at last, a rustling of clothing muffled the foaming waves. Curious, Ranma opened an eye. 

    Akane had also sat, leaning against the other bollard with her face turned toward the light. At least, the Mandarin collar partly shielded her beautiful white neck from the harsh sun. The scent... Could it possibly smell--or taste--as sweet as Ranma imagined? 

    Uncomfortable with the direction her thoughts were taking, especially as it seemed she'd never be a whole man, Ranma pulled her legs up beneath her and looked out to sea--which was really the only reason she noticed the ship. She leapt up, gaping as the wooden craft crawled across the surface of the water to them. Beside her, Akane quietly got to her feet. 

    It was a Chinese junk, its crimson sails in sad condition and its masts weakened by ages of grim weather. Its owner looked even worse, his face wasted, for some reason. Ranma winced at the thought of having to date this young man--and then she winced again, realizing why Kunou appeared so haggard. Two unhappy girls eyed her from the deck. 

    "Dammit!" Ranma grumbled as the brown-haired girl tossed the end of a rope ladder over the side. "I thought I told 'im to make sure they didn't come! Stupid Kunou..." She glanced back down at Akane, and then climbed over onto the deck with a nervous greeting and grin for her best friend. 

    "Long time, no see, sugar," Ukyou replied and stepped back to let Akane aboard, her dark blue eyes flashing in her displeasure. Ranma only turned away and began hauling the ladder up, trying in vain to block out the sudden verbal assault made by the other girl. 

    "You despicable harlots! Where is he? What have you done to my beloved Ranma-sama?" 

    The Saotome girl glanced up at Akane, who seemed a bit bewildered at both the outbursts and at the fact that there was a spiked club being thrust at her face. Muttering an oath beneath her breath, she caught the girl in her arms and leapt to the poop deck in one swift motion. 

    The leotard-clad young woman below only gave the two of them a venomous glare before she threw the ladder back over the rail and made her descent, while Ukyou drew her weapon. The owner of the ship also appeared at last and bravely tried to protect his war goddesses from harm. 

    A slipper and a spatula later, Kunou was floating face-down in the water in perfect imitation of a drowned rat. 

    "What's she trying to do?" Akane asked worriedly. Ukyou was already climbing the deck ladder, the over-sized spatula strapped to her back blinding in the blazing sunlight. 

    Dropping a complaining Akane to the floor, Ranma appealed nervously to her best friend: "C-C'mon, U-chan, you... you don't wanna do this, do you?" 

    Ukyou paused. After a short moment of contemplation, she said curtly, "Yes, I do," and brought the flat of her giant spatula down on Ranma's head. 

~~~~~*~~~~~     "Good morning." 

    Ranma opened his eyes, and there was a strange face smiling tenderly down at him. He stared blankly up at it, for he could not comprehend why it was there, and so said nothing in response to its greeting. After a moment, its lips formed a pout, and the face retreated to its side of the bed. 

    Slowly, he turned his head to find the source of the gentle light. It streamed in on all sides from between stone pillars... and there were large potted tropical plants further out. The air was cool and still, and he could hear water dripping from the leaves. 

    At last, it occurred to him that it was cool because he had no clothing on. "All right," Ranma groaned, disgusted. He pushed himself up, wincing, and gingerly put his hand to the back of his neck. Gruffly, he asked of the female body beside him, "So what number fiancee..." 

    It was Akane lying beside him. 

    And then he could not remember what it was he had been asking of her. His mind was suddenly empty, blank--and then just as suddenly, half a million jumbled thoughts and unfamiliar memories were thrust back into his head. 

    W-Wedding night? 

    When did I...? 

    Ukyou... Akane--Saira--pregnant...? 

    Saira sat up in bed, clutching the clean, white sheets modestly to her chest, and peered into his face with a little concern. "Mastrael, are you feeling all right?" She put a hand gently to his forehead, and the sheet slipped, partially revealing her. His eyes followed the movement, jolted back up, and reluctantly slid downwards again as he silently wondered why, as her husband, he could not see her body. 

    "I'm fine," he murmured absent-mindedly as he eased the covers from her hand. His eyes traced the outline of her slender body, from the top of her head to her fine little toes. Obviously, no, she was not pregnant-- 

    And then the disruption of thought, again, as she leaned back on her elbow with an amused smile playing on her lips. 

    --or that was how it seemed, but hadn't they just confirmed her pregnancy a few weeks ago? He laid his hand lightly over her belly. Warmth on his palm. Perhaps only imaginary, but there was... a slight stirring beneath his fingertips... or so he thought before she laughed his name, "Mastrael!" and pulled him down for a kiss. 

~~~~~*~~~~~     Ranma woke from her dream and found a concerned face hovering above her. "Are you all right, Ranko?" the girl asked, and then Ranma blinked and roughly pushed herself up and away from Akane's lap. 

    "I'm fine!" Ranma got to her feet and looked out at the water, crests of waves daubed with the warm orange and pink of sunset, and craned her head around to find the darker horizon empty of land, too. 

    "Ranko, tell me why Ukyou-san did that to you," Akane said quietly after a moment. Ranma became nervous at the sobriety of her gaze, but shrugged it off in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner, and returned her eyes to the setting sun. 

    "My friend's a pretty violent chick, sometimes." 

    "But... completely unprovoked? How can you possibly call her your friend?" 

    She gave a cynical smirk. "Easy. You make an O shape with your mouth, then say, 'tomo,' and then the last bit sounds a little like 'plural' 'cept with a D--'dachi.' Kinda like the name of the girl who tried to spike your face." 

    Akane had been smiling at the explanation, but at the mention of Kodachi, her expression suddenly hardened, and she glared across the deck. Ranma followed her gaze and saw Kodachi tied, and struggling, to the main mast--with a suitable section of ribbon over her mouth. On the other side of the mast was a damp Kunou, also bound, but slumped on the floor with a wooden bucket over his head and a cracked mop in his hand. 

    "You... you did that, Akane?" 

    Either she didn't hear her or she ignored the incredulous question. "What's her problem, anyway? I didn't even get a chance to greet her, and she tries to kill me with Porcupine-on-a-Stick!" Akane spat in disgust and sat back with her arms folded against her chest. 

    A moment passed, in which Ranma continued to stare at her fiancee, until finally, more than a hint of uncertainty in her voice, Akane looked up at her and whispered, "What did I do to her, Ranko?" 

    "You were my fiancee first," Ranma whispered in reply. Akane's eyes widened at this. "Uh," Ranma stammered, "that is, you were Ranma's fiancee first, and uh, Kodachi's got... this thing... for Ranma, you see. She's a little jealous of you for being engaged to such an ass-kickin' guy, that's all." 

    Akane was silent for what seemed like an eternity, looking down at her tightly clasped hands. When at last she spoke, she stood up and mumbled, still with eyes averted, "Um, I need to go to the-the restroom--or whatever. Excuse me," and hurried away in search of the entrance to the lower deck. 

    Ranma wrung her hands as she watched her fiancee's stiff form disappear down into the depths of the junk. Eventually, it dawned on her that the other girl was not coming back up, and, alone in the fading light with only two incoherently muttering nuts, she wondered aloud, where was Ukyou? How had Akane beaten her into allowing her to watch over Ranma? 

    At that point, Ranma got a certain feeling and glanced up. 

    Of all the directions Akane could punt a person, why did she have to choose straight up? 

    Ranma saw one unconscious female face before Ukyou fell out of the stratosphere and onto her. 

~~~~~*~~~~~     Akane squeezed the pillow almost to death in her arms. It was hugged tightly to her chest like some sort of shield against her femininity--and if Ranko came down in search of her, it'd be better than a cannonball by the time she was through compacting it. 

    A shiver ran from her shoulders to the very tips of her fingers, and she buried her face in the pillow to give a shuddery breath. The red-headed girl's words kept running through her mind, accompanied by her clear blue eyes: 

    'You were my fiancee first.' 

    What had she been like prior to her amnesia? Akane wondered, staring blankly at the old wooden floor. Was it possible... the cause of the amnesia had changed her sexual preferences from... whatever they had been to what they were now? Which seemed, a week ago, in Ranko's brother's arms, to be strictly heterosexual, now... 

    She lay back on the lumpy mattress, ran her eyes warily over the beams of the top bunk, felt suddenly frightened that the aging wood would release its weight, and moved to the bed across the tiny room. Two seconds later, she jumped up again to pace around the room--still with the pillow in her arms. 

    She was wearing Ranma's shirt, and it carried faintly what she thought could be his scent, along with the smell of the sea. She had had his arms around her and had slumbered beside him in the grass, with the night breeze caressing her cheek, and his heart pulsing in her ear. However, when she had woken, he had been gone, and she had found Ranko putting out the fire with a kettle of steamless water. As the redheaded girl had said, Ranma would be waiting for them in Japan. 

    He was wonderful! Perfect in every way she knew (so far). He was strong, handsome, and she liked to think he was also sweet. After all, not every young man could spend a night with a girl and not at least try to get farther than a quick grope, right? He hadn't even tried to kiss her... which was a little disappointing, Akane thought, pausing in her step at a loud thud from above. 

    She glanced upwards at the smoke-stained ceiling of the cabin and tore up to the deck... to find Ranko sleeping beneath her "friend." Disgusted, Akane stalked back downstairs to lock herself into a small room where the lesbian couldn't talk to her. After what seemed like half a night of weary thoughts, she fell into a dreamless slumber on the wooden floor. 

    A tentative knock and a muffled murmur of her name in Ranko's voice woke the girl. Still groggy, Akane staggered to her feet and mumbled something incoherent. Her hand was curled round the cool handle before she recalled yesterday's unpleasant discovery, and she withdrew her hand to her side. 

    "Akane!" Pounding on the door, door handle shaking in decrepit wood, an exasperated pause... Pounding again. "Akane, c'mon, let me in, or at least tell me what I did!" 

    Then more shouting, but with the addition of different voices--outraged, and perhaps loudest, presumably the captain's. There were several utterances of the odd "Oof!" and "Ack!" as the ship rocked with a wave, and Akane listened almost with interest as it sounded as if they had all gone tumbling. 

    "Tendou Akane, belov--agh!" 

    "Shaddup, Kunou." 

~~~~~*~~~~~     The hours dragged on and left Ranma slumped against the wall across Akane's door. The tediousness of it would never end. Ukyou had told her it had taken them about a week to reach China from Japan, and it would take that long to get back to the mainland where Ranma could heat up some water, become male Ranma, and finally coax Akane out of her little hiding place. 

    For some reason, Akane didn't seem to like Ranko very much, which was a curious thing, considering Ranma'd tried her best to behave. And now she smelled like raw fish, which just happened to be all there was to eat in the middle of the Yellow Sea, where the sharks had never heard of okonomiyaki--where Akane wouldn't open the door even to accept her goddamned sushi-without-everything-BUT-fish! 

    Ranma eyed the door, again, and rolled the idea around in her head a bit more. It was a flimsy piece of wood. Huh, Kunou probably hadn't spent much money on the heap of firewood called a ship. It wouldn't take much for it to shatter, and then she would tear inside and cram the food down the dumb girl's throat. 

    She sat there, immobile, for a moment, and then shook her head with a dry smile. "I've been pretty violent lately, huh, Akane?" she murmured fondly to the door across the hall. She expected no answer from her fiancee, and received none--not so much as even a sound of movement. 

    Ukyou's voice floated down to her, somewhat hopefully. Earlier, her pleadings to move onto the upper deck had been turned down, and after three hours of sitting there beside Ranma in silence, she had sighed softly and wandered up to the deck. "Did you say something, Ran-chan?" 

    "No, nothing," Ranma called up quickly. 

    "Oh." The brunette sounded disappointed. "Okay." There was the sound of a sheet of steel meeting a face, and then a body probably crumpled to the deck. "No, she wasn't talking to you, you jackass." 

    When things quieted above her, Ranma stared blankly at the door, her hands folded in her lap. 

    It was true. She had become increasingly violent, even if only in her thoughts. Quicker to raise a hand, to even think of harming Akane, an act that would have been harshly punished before Ryouga had knocked her down. Before Jusenkyou's waters had seeped into the ground, imparting a valley of dusty springs to her. 

    Of course, Ryouga popped out of nowhere, probably having gotten lost back at the Tendou dojo, and just automatically assumed the dry springs were her fault, and then started that damned fight which had caused Akane's amnesia. 

    A surge of quiet fury flew through Ranma's chest as she wandered to the upper deck with the dish and past the still-bound and struggling Kodachi towards her best friend, if just for the sake of companionship. 

    Ranma paused and looked on with a smirk while Ukyou flung several of her small spatulas at the wall, to which Kunou was already pinned. The first and fourth of the airborne spatulas pinned the undersides of his sleeves to the wood beneath, while the second and third fell on either side of his neck. At the sight of the redhead, Kunou started a muffled gibbering, which did him no good, as it appeared a section of Kodachi's gymnastics ribbon was strapped over his mouth. 

    Ukyou, seeing his struggling, looked over her shoulder and beamed. "Glad to see you, sugar. Akane eat anything?" She gave the dish a quick glance before she turned back to the quaking Kunou. "I guess not, huh?" 

    She grunted, ripping out one of the spatulas that he was hanging from. "Geez, what's eating her? Ugh!" A spatula shot from the wood, and it skittered, glittering in the sunlight, along the deck to rest lifelessly near Ranma's feet. "Oh, drat--could you get that for me? Thanks. I don't think I did anything to her, and Kunou didn't actually get a chance to grope her, for once..." Ukyou turned with three of her spatulas held casually in one hand and an amused smile on her face. "So what'd you do?" she asked. 

    Telling Ukyou about her great one-liner last night would not do, of that Ranma was very sure. However, there was nothing else Ranma felt she had done. "I don't know," she lied, "but listen, U-chan, that's not what I came up here for." She looked down at the deck, and then up into her best friend's eyes. "I want you to tell me: Do I seem any different since I left?" Do you think I snapped? 

    At Ukyou's somewhat confused expression, Ranma pulled out the spatula near Kunou's neck and mumbled, "There isn't a cure." 

    Ukyou was quiet, still removing her weapons from the wood. 

    "When me and Akane got there, there wasn't one drop of water left in any of the springs. You know, I thought I smelled blood, and the guide wasn't there, or his daughter, either." Blood, yes, and a few tatters of shredded clothing strewn in the tall grass. 

    Her best friend paused to gaze at her as she said, "I think I saw the guide in the hospital where Akane was staying..." Lying still and pale as the sheets beneath her dark hair, with an oxygen mask strapped over her mouth. Ranma turned away from Ukyou's inquiring eyes. "A-after Ryouga hit her." 

    While Kunou began to struggle and screech a muffled vow of revenge against the fanged boy, Ukyou looked down at her hands. "He hit her hard enough to make her lose her memory?" she asked softly. "It was some sort of accident, right? I thought... he loved her." She turned her gaze to Ranma's, stepped toward her. "I mean, if Ryouga hit Akane, would you--" 

    The hairs at the back of Ranma's neck bristled. "I wou--" 

    She already had, and by the look on the other girl's face, Ukyou knew. She just appeared as if she didn't believe it, though, or didn't want to believe it. Pity for her. 

    Ranma dropped Ukyou's spatulas with a depressed clatter. "Wake me when we get back to Nerima," she said softly as she wandered back below decks. 

~~~~~*~~~~~ **Credits**: 

> **ARISSA**, the goddess-queen of research, located numerous diagrams of Chinese junks for me. Most of this chapter takes place on a junk, so without her help, this chapter would have been very, VERY different. Scarily different. **^^;** Thank you, Riss! 
> 
> **BOB MACFIE** actually took the time, two hours at least or more, to proofread this. It's somewhat significantly different from the first draft, now. The first draft had the unnecessary Shampoo in it--that's how different it is. ^^; The first draft also included misused words and ugly sentences, but you don't see any here, do you? **;)** Thanks, Bob! 
> 
> **CHRIS SIEBENMANN**, the all-round nice guy who knows lots of stuff (e.g. the definition of bollard), READS my stuff. At least, I think he does because he certainly knew what a bollard was when he heard and saw it described, and for that: THANK YOU SO MUCH, MR. SIEBENMANN! Without him, I would have used... post. There was another word suggested by several people on the FFML, but that wasn't quite the same thing as a bollard, which was EXACTLY what I was looking for! **^_^**

~~~~~*~~~~~ 

finis. 
[http://members.nbci.com/nibunyuri][2]

   [1]: mailto:pinku_chan@hotmail.com
   [2]: http://members.nbci.com/nibunyuri



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